


When a brother and a sister stand shoulder to shoulder, who stands a chance against us?

by TheImpossibleDetectivesAngel



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Basically a re-write of the tree scene at the beginning of the movie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enola and Sherlock's relationship was so cute and well done, Fluff, Gen, I WANT MORE, I loved this movie so much, I want it now!, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Fluff, Where is Enola Holmes 2 Netflix?, a bit of angst, but with more sibling love/fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImpossibleDetectivesAngel/pseuds/TheImpossibleDetectivesAngel
Summary: A re-write of the scene between Sherlock and Enola after the confrontation in the sitting room, with added sibling fluff for all your fluffy needs! My first work in this fandom, so be nice, please?
Relationships: Enola Holmes & Mycroft Holmes, Enola Holmes & Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 218





	When a brother and a sister stand shoulder to shoulder, who stands a chance against us?

After the delightful confrontation in the sitting room, Enola had immediately rushed upstairs to pull on her dress and had hightailed it outside. The nerve of that wretched woman, and her brother! Sherlock too! She’d thought that perhaps he could be relied upon to be sensible, to help her – he’d defended her to Mycroft last night after all! But no. He’d turned away with a limp “I’m sorry.” and deferred to Mycroft. Mycroft, who was an arrogant misogynist, who wanted to send her to a stupid school to teach her how to be a ‘proper young lady’. “Arrgh!” She kicked out at the branch before her as she settled onto the tree, sketchbook and pencil in hand.  
  
Her frustration was still coursing through her as she began to draw, and it spilled onto the page, taking the form of a caricature of her eldest brother. She huffed out amusement and annoyance at her work – amusement as it was almost a perfect likeness, and annoyance that her brother was the ass he was – and continued. Enola poured all her emotions and thought into her work, so much so that she didn’t notice Sherlock’s approach until he spoke. “I also enjoy a sketch.” Enola looked up, then down, and watched as her brother approached with his pipe, and set himself down at the trunk of the tree.  
  
She sighed as Sherlock continued. “Helps me think, process my thoughts.” Enola huffed once more, this time at the fact that she’d been interrupted, and tore out the page of her sketchbook. “Helps me do the same.” As she went to tuck the sketch behind the book it flew from her grasp and floated down towards Sherlock. “Damn it.” She muttered as she watched him reach it and grab it from the air. She hung her head, waiting for a reprimand, but it didn’t cone. Instead, her brother chuckled lowly, and his eyes lit up in mischief. Enola watched him as he considered the sketch and then turned his head towards her. “A caricature. Perhaps best if Mycroft doesn’t see it.” She lifted an eyebrow, and then turned her attention back to her sketchbook, hoping he'd get the hint and leave her alone.  
  
A moment of silence stretched between them, and then Sherlock broke it once again. “Do you intend to stay up there?”  
“I was hoping for some privacy.” She griped, but the words lacked heat. Truly, she wasn’t that angry at Sherlock. More, irritated that he hadn’t stood up for her against Mycroft. Still, she had wanted to be alone, to vent her frustrations in private. But instead of leaving, her brother kept talking, telling her the few memories he had of her. And, despite herself, Enola listened as he told her about ‘Dash’. Curious, and not as angry as a few minutes before, she began to make her way forward on the branch, to dismount and get onto the ground.  
  
“We could never persuade you to put any trousers on.” What?! Where the hell had that come from?! Enola gasped indignantly, glaring at Sherlock as she began to climb down though he couldn’t see it. He continued as Enola, with enormous effort, lowered herself onto the branch below. A sudden melancholy note coloured her brother’s voice as he finished. “I think that’s all the memories I have.” Huffing, she righted herself on the branch. “Thank you. If you could now forget them all.” It was a snapped remark, but as Sherlock turned his wistful smile on her, Enola softened slightly.  
  
“A pine cone called Dash?” She asked incredulously. They laughed together as Sherlock reminisced, and for the first time since he and Mycroft had arrived, Enola felt that she had a brother. Their chuckles trailed off, and the bitterness crept back into Enola. “Why did you never visit?” Instead of bitter, it came out almost as melancholy as Sherlock’s earlier statement about memories. She watched as her brother looked up at her in shock, and then considered his answer with a heavy sigh. “I lead a busy life.” So that’s what he was going with? What a terrible excuse! Enola gave a sigh and jumped off the tree to stand before her brother. Some of the anger had emerged again. “Why did you never write?!”  
  
She watched Sherlock lean back to look at her. He was still clutching her caricature sketch of Mycroft in his hand. “Would you have cared for my letters?” What a ridiculous question, thought Enola furiously. Carefully, she sat next to him, keeping her eyes locked with her brother’s. “I have kept every clipping of every case of yours I could ever find.” A smile once again graced Sherlock’s face – Enola liked it when he smiled. He looked much more approachable and charming that way. “That’s flattering.” The nice thoughts vanished from Enola’s head with those words. “Yet it took our mother’s disappearance to bring you home.”  
  
Looking back at him, Enola found she couldn’t stomach the look of furrowed concern he had put on. It made her forget her anger almost entirely, and that wouldn’t do. She looked into the distance once more. “She meant to go. She’s not coming back.”  
“No.” That hurt to hear, even if Enola knew it was true. But then again, Sherlock seemed to be the brutally honest type. Enola desperately tried to blink back her sudden tears as Sherlock continued to speak. “But the truth is, Mother always had a reason for everything. Her own way of doing things. And those kind of mysteries are always the most satisfying to unpick.” Looking back at her brother, she saw the mischievous smile on his face, saw the way he was trying to console her the only way he knew how. But she didn’t want it.  
  
“I don’t want a mystery Sherlock! I want my mother back here and my life as it was.” She didn’t want him to reply, but knew that he would. And she wouldn’t like it. “You’re being emotional. It’s understandable, but unnecessary.” She sighed, steadying herself against her brother’s well-meaning but hurtful remarks. “Look for what’s there, not what you want to be there. You’ll see the truth soon enough.” Finally, she gathered the courage to look at her brother once more. His expression was soft, and despite the harshness of the words, Enola knew he was trying to help her. “Like the truth that wretched woman told me?” She asked in response. Standing, she paced away from the tree.  
  
“Aarrrggghh!” Sherlock watched her scream into the surrounding countryside, and stood himself. He thought Mycroft had no idea what he was doing by trying to force Enola into going to Miss Harrison’s ‘Finishing School’. But, as Mycroft had pointed out, he was not Enola’s guardian. It fell to their eldest brother to decide what to do with her, and Mycroft, prig that he was, had chosen to try and ‘tame’ her. Sherlock was waiting with a good amount of anticipation and uncertainty to see it blow up in his face. “I know you don’t want to go Enola.” She turned to him, defeat so entirely obvious in the way her shoulders slumped. “But you have a brilliant mind.”  
  
Sherlock looked down at her, and carefully handed her back the sketch. “You’ll think of something.” She gave him the smallest of smiles finally, and Sherlock felt undeniably proud in that moment. “Come.” He motioned and they began to walk back towards the house. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking of right now.” His sister muttered. “A way to get that wretched woman back for slapping me.” It was said quietly, but Sherlock heard it nonetheless. “Pardon?” He asked, and Enola stopped suddenly next to him.  
“Oops.” He heard her whisper to herself. She turned her eyes up to his and smiled sheepishly. “Nothing.” She said, a touch too cheerfully. Sherlock knew it was false instantly. “Surely you know I deserved it, I was being impertinent.” Sherlock said nothing, frowning.  
  
Miss Harrison had hit Enola? She had seemed unusually upset when she’d burst into the drawing room, and there had been the faintest red mark on her cheek as well. Truthfully, Sherlock hadn’t thought much of it at the time, assuming it to be a flush from Enola’s emotional state. But it had been the mark of a slap? He cursed himself for not seeing it and turned his attention back to his little sister. She was still stood before him, eyes on the ground as if it were the most interesting thing ever. “Enola.” He murmured softly. Their eyes met, and Sherlock offered her a small smile. She gave one back. “If she ever does so again, you tell me immediately, you hear?”  
  
He saw a spark of hope bloom in her eyes and cursed Mycroft for already tearing away at her spirit. “I shall not have her laying a hand on you again.” He began to walk once again – to much emotion for one day, he thought. Enola had to run to catch up with him, but she had a fuller, happier grin on her face. As they reached the house, she grasped her brother’s arm, halting him. “You promise?” Sherlock looked into the eyes of his younger sister, so full of hope and wonder at his promise of protection, and he melted. Perhaps just one more moment of emotion today, he thought.  
  
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and bent to press a quick, almost non-existent kiss to her forehead. “I promise.” He was gone not a moment after, leaving Enola standing there frozen in shock from the sudden display of affection. Briefly, she touched a hand to where her brother had pressed a kiss, and smiled sadly. “I am still leaving.” She said, as she walked into the house to face the horror of Miss Harrison and the dress fitting once more. “But it’s nice to know one brother cares at least.”


End file.
